Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Dollhouse.

- o O o -

Sherlock returned to the living room with a small frown on his face, seeming slightly out of it. John sighed, because he knew that meant his friend was deep in thought, and John knew better than to interrupt him until he was ready to talk.

"Something has made her very afraid, but what? Clearly whatever she suffered in that warehouse has created a gap in her memory, likely suppressed. It will come back in time, and she will most likely have flashbacks, nightmares, like you do with Afghanistan." Sherlock began talking quickly, pacing back and forth along the room. "We will have to be careful. Signs of addiction. She may not even know what she's seeking, it's likely they never let her come down off the high from the drugs we found, John." He points out as he glances at his doctor. "The exam is a good idea. She did not flinch when either of us came close or touched her, which means that if she was sexually assaulted she also has no memory of that. Not surprising if she was heavily drugged. Again something that could present it at inopportune moments. We should tell Mrs. Hudson she'll be staying here, and get her to take Sofia out for some clothes shopping, and to get whatever toiletries she may require. Oh, this will be a most fascinating case. What happened to her, why was there such a fear response when we suggested finding out where she lives? Now that we have her name, we should call Lestrade, track down her apartment." Sherlock was still pacing as he rambled off at a pace that John was starting to get used to.

Sighing, John shook his head, finishing cleaning up. "Sherlock, no." he says in a firm tone, causing his friend to stop pacing. "Call Lestrade, yes. But this young woman is not a case, Sherlock. She's been obviously traumatized, she is still going through withdrawal from an obvious addiction that she had no choice in." He says in a firm tone, holding up one hand, palm down, to try and get his friend to calm himself.

Sherlock stopped. "I am not quite as insensitive as you seem to think I am, John. I have already realized everything you said, and I have no intention of upsetting her. I would not have agreed to let her stay here if I intended to merely interrogate her, I would have handed her over to Lestrade without a thought." He says in a scolding tone, before he goes over to pick up the blanket they had on the couch, putting it with the rest of their laundry.

John sighed and nodded, picking up his phone to pull in a favor with a friend at the hospital to get Sofia an appointment and have a full physical and blood tests, watching Sherlock come back to stand by the window, staring out, his second favorite 'thinking' spot.

John had barely gotten off the phone when there was a knock at the door. He was confused, but Sherlock didn't seem to be too keen on answering the door, as always, so John went to get it. It would have shocked John less to see Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, standing on the other side of the door. Instead, it was a woman that John only knew as Anthea, and who was, as far as John could tell, Mycroft's personal assistant.

"Here." Anthea said simply, looking up from her Blackberry to hold out a paper bag from some sort of shop that John didn't recognize. Probably a woman's type shop judging by the coloring of it. When John didn't immediately take it, Anthea sighed.

"Mycroft estimated your guest should be coherent soon, and obviously you don't have the things she might need. A change of clothes, and toiletries." Anthea explained, holding up the bag again.

Sherlock snorted from where he was standing looking out the window, turning just a little to glance at Anthea suspiciously, looking her over. But as always, he could glean very little information from her.

"How did he- You know what, nevermind." John was long past being overly surprised at the things that Mycroft seemed to know, like Sofia's clothing size or what she might prefer in the way of toiletries. "Thank you." he finally settled on, and took the bag from Anthea.

Once her hand was free, Anthea turned back to her Blackberry, texting almost continuously it seemed. "Mr. Holmes sends his regards." She said a bit louder so Sherlock could hear. "Goodbye." She said after a moment, turning and disappearing down the stairs.

- o O o -

The water in the bath was a bit hot, but I liked it, relaxing into it, finding the wash cloth and starting to scrub myself until my skin turned pink and my muscle ached from the sudden use. Washing my hair was going to be impossible, and I was frustrated that I would have to ask John or Sherlock for even more help. Still, for now it was nice to just sit in the hot water. I was in there for a bit before I heard a light knock on the door. It could only be John. I had the distinct impression that if he did not just barge into the room, Sherlock would knock more firmly.

"Er, Sofia? Are you alright in there? Sherlock's brother.. well, his PA, brought you some things.. change of clothes, and.. er.. other.. beauty products.. didn't really look in the bag.. bit afraid to, honestly." He admitted quietly. "Just going to put it inside the door, alright?" He asks tentatively.

"I'm fine.. just relaxing... And.. that's fine, can you tell Sherlock's brother thank you for me?" I had no idea who he was or what kind of man he was, or even how he might know my clothing size, but it was awfully nice of him to go to all that trouble.

John slowly opened the door, swinging the bag into the middle of the room, somehow without putting more than his arm into the room. "He was never here, but I'm sure you'll meet him eventually. He's very protective of Sherlock. I knew him less than 24 hours and I got... sort of abducted by him, he took me to a warehouse to interrogate me." He chuckles a little. "Looking back, it was all odd and typically big brother, but he works for the government, and.. I'll just let you get back to the bath." John was rambling, and he just realized it, quickly making sure the door was shut securely before he wandered off, not giving me a chance to respond.

I was in the bath a bit longer before I started to get out carefully, looking around and grabbing the towel to start drying myself, still unsteady on my feet. My skin itched, and I rubbed it until it was a bit pink again, before sighing in frustration. Digging around in the bag, I found a set of underwear, just my size, jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing fancy, but well made and very good materials. I dressed slowly, still feeling unsteady, and made use of the lotion in the bag, before I picked up the bag and put my borrowed clothes and put them in what was obviously the laundry basket. Finally, I emerged from the bathroom and John was sitting in his chair with the newspaper and Sherlock was in the kitchen, perched over his microscope doing.. something.

"Um.. I.. I wasn't.. able to.. wash my hair.." I felt ridiculous as I looked between the two, knowing my face showed how lost and somewhat confused that I was.

John looked up from his newspaper, surprised, and uncertain. It was obvious he wasn't really comfortable with the idea of helping me wash my hair. "Oh.. uh.. right.."

Sherlock sighed a little. "Honestly, John, with the number of girlfriends you've had, you've never washed their hair at any point? Did you not take care of any of them when they were sick?" He sounded exasperated as he looked up from his microscope, staring at John's dumbfounded expression. With another sigh, he got up, walking over to me and taking the bag from my hands, taking out the shampoo and conditioner, as well as the brush, before he motioned back toward the bathroom. "I'll do it."

I wasn't sure how to react to that, and finally settled on a small smirk as I looked between the two, then set the rest of my bag down and turning to walk slowly into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat before I fell down.

Sherlock followed, getting a new towel before he looked around, considering how best to do this, no doubt. He disappeared, coming back with a pillow and small stool, bridging the gap between the toilet and the tub. "Lay back, your head over the edge of the tub." He invited in a soft voice, placing a hand on the back of my neck gently to lower me down. The showerhead came down with a long hose, meaning that it would reach down to be a sprayer. Sherlock removed his suit jacket, and then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before kneeling down next to me, turning the water on to get warm water.

I felt a little awkward, yet comfortable, laying back like that, glancing over at the ethereal form of Sherlock Holmes above me. "Thank you." I thought it felt inadequate, and encompassed so much more than just washing my hair.

"No need to thank me. Someone did this for me once, after I went through something similar. It's very important to feel like yourself. To feel clean, healthy." Sherlock said quietly, finally pouring the warm water over my head an scalp, long fingers working into the reddish-brown strands. I knew how my hair must look, it looked horrible if I didn't wash it at least every other day, much less how it is now.

"My skin itches.." I admitted as I looked up at him, since he said that he went through something like this before, I thought maybe he would have some advice.

"Feeling jittery, too?" Sherlock asked as he looked down on me. "Yes.. that's withdrawal.. as is nausea, tremors, weakness... Anxiety." He says as he looks at her. "Likely heightened by your experience." He says thoughtfully as he wet my hair down before he put some shampoo into his hand, and then into my hair, using two hands now to massage my scalp, which felt very good.

"Yeah.. Definitely feeling that.." I had to admit, taking a deep breath and folding my hands over my stomach to get a little more comfortable, letting my eyes slide closed as he worked his fingers through my hair. I had to admit, I always liked that feeling, someone washing my hair for me.

"It will be some time before you start to feel like yourself again." Sherlock said gently, washing off his own hands before he started to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, lifting my head to get to the back gently.

"Have you done this a lot? I mean.. washed your girlfriend's hair and stuff?" I had to ask, since it was very relaxing and he was doing a good job of it, peeking one eye open.

Sherlock just snorted. "Hardly." He said dismissively. "However, my hair takes a bit more care than the Doctor's. I do require a hair cut occasionally, it is not difficult to imitate such simple actions." he says with a note to his voice that indicates just how much of an idiot I am.

I took it in stride though, not really offended because when he put it like that, it was kind of obvious. It just seemed a surprising skill for him, or any man for that matter, to have. After the shampoo was removed, Sherlock started the process again with the conditioner, but in this he took a little more care, spreading it over my hair and then massaging my scalp again, threading his fingers through my stands of hair to make sure that he got it everywhere, coating as much of my hair as he could. I didn't have anything else to say so I just fell silent and enjoyed the feeling. Eventually, he washed my hair out again, taking the same care in making sure that the conditioner was off my skin and out of my hair.

Sherlock was having trouble focusing by the time he was working on the conditioner. He could only feel the strands going through his hands, wishing that it were dry. Anthea picked a very good scent for the shampoo, roses.. and something else that was a bit spicy and pleasant. Still, he completed his task with efficiency.

After shutting the water off, I felt Sherlock squeeze my hair out, then draped a towel over my forehead, tucking it around my hair. "Finished." He says simply, helping me to sit up, then he says, "Here is a brush that my brother's assistant included, I trust you can finish the rest." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving me staring after him and smirking. I got the feeling that all his blustering was just a front, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself.

I finally sat up enough to tend to my hair, drying it the best that I could before brushing it out, pleased that the brush was of rather good quality and went through my hair easily. Although I had to make a face at the amount of hair that came out from not having brushed my hair or washed it for so long. I also cleaned out the bath tub of any hair, making a slight face. Finally, I got up weakly and headed toward the main room.